Dresden Files Novels & Stories

"Next time, someone I love may be killed." When the teakettle let out a shrill whistle, Daphne absentmindedly waved her hand, and the tea service floated across the room and settled on the table. Then the cups, saucers, spoons, and teapot went to work. Daphne crossed the room to her vast bookcase, filling the corner of the room. She looked over a few books when I realized they were grimoires. She selected one, crossed the room back to me, and then opened it on the table between us.

Chapter Thirty-One: Mercy Is the Sharpest Blade Smoke curled across the battlefield, thick as fog, choking the wounded and silencing the dying. Fires burned along the broken ridge lines, consuming what little peace was left in the world of wolves. Lyra stood at the center of it all—alive, glowing, and feared. But not victorious. Not yet. Darius leaned on her shoulder, still recovering from the bond-severing spell that nearly tore him apart. Though he stood on two feet, the pain lingered in his eyes, an echo of the blade that had nearly cut the heart out of them both.

He tapped the table calmly, his eyes fixated on the messy reports on the desk. Soon, the door opened, and the doctor returned with an awkward expression on his face. He looked at Brewster's seemingly innocent face and sighed in despair. "Brewster," He called. Brewster blinked and stood up. His heart couldn't help but race slightly at the expression on the doctor's face. Was the money not enough for even a deposit? That was expected, though. Considering his relationship with Ace wasn't particularly great. It was normal for Ace not to give him much.

Shrewsbury The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon The Final Cut by Jasper Bark Blackwater Val by William Gorman Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. Yardley Nameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. Yardley

Aaron has Always Loved his this Funny Side and he Enjoys his this Side but it is Super Rare to Witness. Aaron Looks at Alexander as he Questions him Softly "Are you still in Love with her? " Alexander's Eyes suddenly becomes Dark as he hears his Question. He Clearly Knows as to what does he mean when he says Her. He knows that he is Talking about Darcy. The Woman that has Killed him. The Woman that is the Reason for him to Turn into The Blood Sucking Monster. Aaron Notices the sudden change in him and gets Worried. He Regrets for asking such a Question while Alexander Relives whatever Darcy has done Against him. He Relived whatever Pain she has Inflicted on him and how he has Lost his Mother

Nothing happened, though, and relief instantly filled me. Every other time as soon as ink had gotten onto the page, I would be transported into the book. However, this time nothing happened, which might be because I hadn’t used the quill since the ink just spilled. No longer frozen, I recalled the knock on the door and rose from my desk. I was about to take a step when suddenly my living room dissolved into inky blackness. An inky blackness that had only been in a couple of times when the three musketeers of assholes paused my story. Which means I was in my book, 1001 Dark Tales. I instantly started praying that for once those three weren’t in the books with me. In the next second, I realize

The door closed. Angry? Did I do anything wrong? Suddenly, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down. There was a dagger in my hand. Symbols began carving on the silver blade. And somehow, somewhere, I knew what they meant. “Marfóir Deamhan,” I whispered. The meaning came to me like a memory that was never mine. My voice cracked, as I translated the words. “Demon Slayer.”

His long, pointed ears and grayish skin revealed that he was a Drow, better known as Dark Elves, a relative of the High Elves and Wood Elves. He wore a midnight black long-sleeved shirt, the buttons on this were gold and on his chest, on each side he had a small pocket that could be opened by unfastening the button that held it, on his back he had the symbol of Damenburg Castle, the intertwined tree. Beneath him he wore a set of black pants. He also wore a pair of fine leather high boots and from his belt hung a sword that resembled an elegant needle, it was a Rapier.

He stretched out with positive indolence, his eyes a pure glimmer of light below the luxuriant veil of his ridiculously long lashes. “One of my PAs from the New York office… Five-foot ten, red-headed... my perfect kind of sin,” Christophe confided softly, reflectively, his eloquent mouth taking on a sensual slant. “She was as wild and hot as I was. I got laid in my coffee break…” Frozen by appalled disbelief that he could actually be confessing to such behavior, Lara was welded to the spot. Her vocal cords were strangled.

***TRIGGER WARNING: Up until now, this story has been fairly tame. From this point forward, Wolfblood takes a dark turn. For those who read the first book of the series, Wolfbane, this book is much darker and deals with more serious, real-world issues. If you prefer light-hearted romances without violence, I advise you not to continue. If, however, you enjoy thrilling werewolf romance novels, please continue with Wolfblood! I promise it's worth the ride.***